


It Is Hot

by cheapsake



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Angst, LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, M/M, Much's POV, Oblivious Marian, POV First Person, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheapsake/pseuds/cheapsake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The "Left in the Desert to Die" scene from the last episode of Season Two, from Much's POV.<br/>(SUGGESTION: Watch the scene again before reading this, if you can, and keep an eye on Much in the background. [I mean, don't let me tell you how to live your life, though.])</p><p>Also, to note: I personally <b><i>abhor</i></b> first-person perspective in fanfiction, but this fic didn't feel right in third-person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Is Hot

**Author's Note:**

> Before you begin, I would like you to know this is some _angsty garbage_ , but it's been stuck in my head since I saw the episode, and it needed to be written. You have been warned.  
> [Originally written in 2009]

It is hot.

So very hot. 

And in a just world – in a fair world – I would never wish to be anywhere _near_ another in this kind of heat. Yet here… now… I resent her for being the one so close to him. My master.

“I want to die in England. Sherwood,” John moans.

“Come on, John. Today’s a good day to die; you’re always saying it.” And finally, I, too, want to die. I wish I had died already, and had not lived to see her win this small, final victory.

“Today is _not_ a good day to die!” he rages. But then his voice breaks, “I want to die in the arms of my wife. And with my son, John, by my side.” That, I understand. I steal a glance at the pair across from me.

My master tries to placate him with high-minded morals. Even now, he is Robin Hood.

Suddenly, Marian speaks. “Say the words then, handsome.”

Don’t.

Oh, please. Don’t.

I am breathing harshly, and would that I could blame it on the suffocating heat.

“What words?”  he replies, blissfully ignorant of the direction she is taking.

“I, Robin, take you… Marian,” she explains.

This can’t be happening. She can’t be serious.

“Now?”

“Now is a good time, I think. We are in the company of the best witnesses England has to offer.” I am surely being punished for all the times I have renounced God. There is no other explanation. Perhaps I _have_ already died, and watching them do this is to be my eternal torment. It’s certainly hot enough.

When she looks at me, I nod. I don’t know what else to do.

There is a pause, and I hope foolishly for a moment that he will tell her she is being silly-- but then he is speaking, and killing me all at once.

“I, Robin, take you, Marian, to be my lawful wedded wife…” She smiles serenely, staring off into the sky, as he talks.

I am finding it harder to breathe than ever.

“To have and to hold…”

Oh, master, please…

“For better or for worse…”

_Please._

“For richer,” his voice is thick, “or for poorer…”

 _Don’t!_ I can’t bear it!

A distracted part of my mind finds it amazing that there is still moisture enough in my body for tears.

“In sickness…” Marian prompts when he has paused for too long.

“In sickness or in health…” he continues.

Little mewling sounds are escaping me now, despite my best efforts to stifle them.

My master takes a deep, shaky breath, “To love and to cherish…”

Oh, Lord, this is too cruel! I would give anything for it stop!

“ ‘Til death do us part,” he finishes. And for a brief moment, I try to pretend it hasn’t happened; that this has all been some horrible hallucination brought on by the Hellish heat.

But my respite is short-lived (a misery I again attribute to my renunciation of the Lord), for too soon Marian speaks her vows in return.

“I, Marian, take you, Robin of Locksley, Master of the Bow, Champion of the Poor, and Lord of My Heart, to be my lawful wedded husband.” Oh, God, she’s said it! The rest is all just daggers to my heart; they’ve accepted each other.

It’s over.

They’re married.

They belong to each other now. Each other only.

And it hurts.

It hurts _so much._

She sees me crying and laughs lightly.

Oh, sweet Lord! What I would give for her to have snorted her derision! Or – God! – even eyed me with pity! Here in this light laugh, I can tell that she has absolutely _no idea_ how I feel about him.

I’m practically choking on my own tears now. Drowning in the desert.

How can she not see it?! How can she simply not notice? Is it so small a thing? Oh… oh! Can _he_ not see it?! Has he never known? Is that why he’s able to do this with her? Did he never know how much I love him? Too cruel! Oh, _please_!! Too horrible!

But too awful to think that he _did_ know and could do this, anyway! Too terrible!

“Much,” she says, still smiling her peaceful smile, “don’t cry.”

No… no, no! How can I not? You do not see how monstrous the situation is! Damned if he loves me, damned if he doesn’t, damned anyway for my renunciation!

God in Heaven, forgive me! If You have any love left for me, end this! Or end me!

_It is so damn hot!_

“He’s not crying; he’s laughing out the wrong side of his face.”

Carter is an angel.


End file.
